


Room's Still Spinning

by hollybennett123



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s, Clothed Sex, Dancing, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Endearments, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Intercrural Sex, Kitchen Sex, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 11:35:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8247310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollybennett123/pseuds/hollybennett123
Summary: “This ain’t no dance I’ve ever seen before,” Steve protests, trying not to laugh and not quite succeeding. He grasps at Bucky’s shirt, the fabric twisting sharply in his fist as he steadies himself, anchored.“It’s ours,” Bucky says as he turns it into an off-tempo waltz, eyes bright and his wide, lush mouth kissed pretty. “Our dance, you an’ me.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Me when I first thought of this fic: This’ll probably turn out pretty cute and not even really that dirty :)  
> The part of my brain responsible for writing this Quality Content™: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

It’s not long gone eleven when Bucky gets home, bringing with him the chill from the night-time air that clings to his clothes, bright and fresh against the quiet warmth of the stove-warmed kitchen.

Steve pauses where he’s leaning across the counter, cleaning it over with a rag, and turns to look at him over his shoulder. Bucky’s hair is all tousled, cheeks flushed from dancing and the walk home. When Bucky grins at him Steve can’t help but smile right back, his good mood infectious.

“Made soup,” Steve says, nodding to the pot on the range. The whole room is steamed up and sweet with the smell of tomatoes, windows dripping with condensation behind their threadbare curtains. He pushes his shirt sleeves back up over his elbows and resumes his cleaning. “You want some?”

Bucky steps up behind him and places his hands on the counter at either side of Steve’s waist, penning him in. They aren’t quite touching yet, but it’s a close enough call that something pulls warm and promising in Steve’s belly.

“I always want some,” Bucky murmurs, breath hot against Steve’s neck as he hooks his chin over his shoulder.

Taking the rag from Steve’s hand, Bucky tosses it aside. Steve merely sighs long-sufferingly and presses the tips of his fingers against the counter one at a time where his palm is resting downwards, _tap tap tap_. He rolls his eyes as if he’s bored, like he’s not interested one bit, because it’s more fun that way even if Bucky’s not buying it in the slightest and they both know it.

There’s a splash of soup still painted across his wrist from earlier, Steve notices, an orange-red smear peeking out from the underside where he’d been clumsy in his cooking. Bringing it to his mouth, he sucks it clean, salt-burst on his tongue. He lets his mouth linger slightly longer than necessary, lower lip catching as he draws away, and hears the tiny catch in Bucky’s throat he was hoping for.

“Fuck,” Bucky breathes, voice low, and steps right up close so he’s pressed against Steve’s back, the buttons of his shirt dotting their way down Steve’s spine. Bucky’s so _warm_ , even with two layers of clothing between them.

Bucky captures Steve’s hand with one of his own, lacing their fingers together, and draws it to his mouth to kiss right over the damp patch on Steve’s wrist where his own lips had been moments before. Turning Steve’s hand over, fingers still tangled together, he pauses for several seconds as though trying to decide what to do with him, and Steve can scarcely stand the anticipation. When Bucky finally makes a move, brushing his soft mouth across Steve’s knuckles, it’s all Steve can do not to shiver full-bodily where he’s standing. He leans back against Bucky’s solid chest as he releases his hand with a quiet, amused sound.

Steve breathes in deep, finding that Bucky’s clothes smell faintly of perfume, and he doesn’t need to look at him to know there’ll be lipstick smeared sticky beneath his collar. It gets him going just thinking about it, not a lick of jealousy there because he’s never felt the need for it; there isn’t much in Steve’s life that other people might want, but everyone wants Bucky. He’s never been averse to sharing, so long as he comes home after and loves on Steve the way Steve wants him to.

“You find yourself some pretty dames to dance with?” Steve asks, his voice rougher and less steady than he’s expecting. He’s half hard already and they’ve barely even _done_ anything.

“You know it,” says Bucky, smug. “Got kisses off three of ’em.”

“Three, huh?” Steve says, all mock surprise. “Guess you won't be wanting no more tonight, then.”

Winding his arms around Steve’s waist, his palms seeping warmth through the fine-worn cotton of Steve’s shirt, Bucky smiles a slow, filthy grin that Steve feels rather than sees.

“Hell no,” Bucky murmurs. “I was only getting warmed up.”

The apartment next door has the wireless on, too loud for the late hour, and music hums faintly through the wall. Bucky sways slightly, the two of them fitted together so Steve moves right along with him. Dragging his thumb slowly over Steve’s hipbone, Bucky hooks it into the waistband of Steve’s pants, just resting there. Exhales a quiet, pleased sigh when Steve closes his eyes and melts back into him.

“Thought you wanted some, Buck,” Steve says eventually, breaking the easy silence. “Or were you starting something you got no intention of finishing?”

Bucky laughs softly and rolls his hips against him, subtly and then more firmly, pressing Steve into the counter. It’s solid and bruising against his hipbones where he’s tipped forward, just how he likes it. He grits his teeth, biting back a groan.

He’s expecting Bucky to keep grinding up on him, quite happy with where that’s going –

( – and maybe they won’t even get their clothes off in time; maybe Bucky will rub off on him right here, press the heel of his hand over Steve’s cock until he goes off in his pants, or – )

– so he’s surprised when instead Bucky turns him around so his back is to the counter, and leans down in order to kiss him soundly.

“Like I’d leave you hanging,” Bucky mumbles against his mouth. “Like I’d _dare_. As if I’d want to, you looking like that; getting me all worked up, doll.”

Lord almighty, Steve thinks, curling the fingers of one hand around the back of Bucky’s neck to reel him in. The things this mouth can say and do.

Breaking apart and stepping back with a grin, Bucky takes Steve’s hands and places one of them at his waist. He pulls him into a slow dance, a mismatched jumble of steps that nearly has Steve tripping over the both of them as they spin steadily around the kitchen.

“This ain’t no dance I’ve ever seen before,” Steve protests, trying not to laugh and not quite succeeding. He grasps at Bucky’s shirt, the fabric twisting sharply in his fist as he steadies himself, anchored.

“It’s ours,” Bucky says as he turns it into an off-tempo waltz, eyes bright and his wide, lush mouth kissed pretty. “Our dance, you an’ me.”

Steve glares at him when he nearly falls over _again_ , and sets his mouth in a determined line as he places Bucky’s hand on his hip and switches to lead. Bucky twirls around him with an easy smile, moving gracefully despite his extra inches of height. He turns on his toes, socked feet skidding over the dust-streaked floorboards, and the pair of them almost go crashing down together, giddy.

“Watch it, knucklehead,” Steve wheezes, unsteady on his feet. It’s mostly laughter but he’s feeling the exertion now too, like all the air was knocked from his lungs while he wasn’t paying attention.

“Hey,” Bucky frowns, cupping Steve’s jaw and looking over him anxiously in the way he only ever does when he’s feeling like he’s the one to blame. “Hey, are you good?”

Steve bats his hands away, though the twist of his mouth is closer to a smile than frustration. “I’m _fine_ , get offa me Barnes. I can – just give me a minute, jeez.”

Bucky rests his hands lightly on Steve’s shoulders, expression soft and infinitely patient. He looks so damn fine tonight that it almost hurts to look at him, stealing Steve’s breath from him in a different way entirely. Steve stares at his feet instead; takes a few deep breaths until the world feels less off-kilter before finally tugging Bucky into a kiss to avoid saying anything more about it.

“Come on,” Steve urges when Bucky is overly careful with him, “come _on_ , Buck, I want it,” and Bucky is quick to turn it deep and filthy then, parting Steve’s lips with his tongue and gasping soft when Steve sucks on his bottom lip just how he likes.

“Jesus, I’ve been thinking about this all goddamn day, I swear,” Bucky groans, backing Steve up against the kitchen table and hoisting him up to sit on it like it’s no effort at all. He mouths at Steve’s neck, licks and sucks at the sensitive patch of skin behind his ear. Steve digs his fingernails into the table edge, lightheaded all over again.

“Buck, we eat here,” Steve feels compelled to point out, though it lacks any real heat behind it and is really more of a token effort at being the sensible one for once.

Bucky tries his most innocent look, entirely unconvincing. “So I’ll clean up after, babydoll. You know I will.”

“You’d better,” Steve tells him, fixing him with a glare. Bucky only smirks, handsome as sin, and leans in to press his lips to the corner of Steve’s mouth.

Gently, Bucky slides Steve’s suspenders off his shoulders, then sets about unbuttoning his shirt. He doesn’t remove it entirely, instead simply letting it fall open enough to get his hands on bare skin. He pauses only briefly at the newest set of bruises blossoming on Steve’s ribs, eyes narrowed and fingertips lingering over the colorful marks while he assesses the damage. Very, very carefully, he presses his thumb against the edge of one until Steve draws in a sharp breath.

“Idiot,” Bucky admonishes softly, like he couldn’t quite let it go without comment, but he’s smiling and he knows better than to say any more on the matter. Bruises mean Steve’s getting into scrapes he oughtn’t be getting into at all, but if he’s well enough to be out of the apartment and raising hell then there’s an unspoken rule that says that they’re both going to count it as a win.

Bucky’s fingers move down to the buttons on Steve’s pants, deftly flicking them open one after the other. Steve knows where this is heading, thinks of the empty tin of Vaseline they threw away two days ago, and says, “You remember to get more slick from the store?” in the hopes of prompting Bucky to go fetch it.

Instead, Bucky freezes, face falling and looking so utterly disappointed in himself that Steve can’t even be sore about it. “We got nothing?”

Steve raises an eyebrow and shakes his head slowly. They’ve had no money going spare for luxuries like butter and such this month, nor can he think of anything else in the apartment that could be of any use.

Bucky chews at his bottom lip in a way that’s wholly distracting, shrugging one shoulder. “I mean, a little spit, we take it slow…” and Steve swallows and thinks _maybe_ before he comes to his senses. Bucky’s eyes are dark and wanting and desperate and it’s very, very hard to disagree.

“Bucky, _no_ , I’m not letting you put in it me nearly dry,” Steve counters before he can change his mind, even if his traitorous body’s interested despite the risk or because of it. He’s hard as hell at the thought of Bucky getting his hole messy with spit, working him open so, so careful with tender sweeps of his clever fingers so he can finally slip inside.

“Course not,” Bucky frowns, taken aback like he’s appalled that Steve could even think of it. Looking at Steve with an imploring expression, he mumbles, “I was gonna let you do _me_.”

Jesus Christ, Steve thinks. Allows himself to imagine it for a full three seconds and then shuts that train of thought down permanently before either of them do anything they’re going to regret.

He sighs and gives Bucky a look. “Nobody’s stickin’ it in anybody without the proper supplies, Buck.”

The corner of Bucky’s mouth quirks up, amused, but he concedes the point without further argument. Holding Steve’s gaze, he slides Steve’s pants down over his legs along with his underwear to pool on the floor forgotten, and Steve lets out a shuddering breath as his cock bobs back against his bare stomach. Bucky’s eyes rake over him hungrily when Steve leans his weight back on his hands, and despite his rumpled shirt and his mismatched socks he feels thoroughly exposed in a way that has him flushing hot all over.

“Let me make it up to you, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs, the cocksure curve of his lips promising all kinds of things as he runs a fingernail feather-light up the inside of Steve’s exposed thigh. “What do you want, babydoll? You know I’d let you do anything you wanted. You just gotta say.”

Steve exhales sharply and his cock jerks untouched, drooling an excited little pulse of precome.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Bucky says reverently, gently touching the tips of two fingers to the sensitive slit. They come away sticky and Steve can’t help but shiver at the flood of arousal that rushes through him in response. “Look at how bad you want it, huh.”

Sat up here – with Bucky stood before him, eyes on him like he’s the most important thing – Steve feels oddly emboldened; a little powerful. His gaze slides down to the obvious bulge in Bucky’s slacks.

“Take it out,” Steve breathes, pulse quickening, “I want to see.”

“Jesus,” Bucky says, “fuck, yes,” all his breath leaving him in a rush as he fumbles with his fly and draws his cock out with an unsteady hand.

He gives himself a couple of slow strokes, but Steve urges his fingers away with his own and takes over for him. He uses both hands, drawing one up and then the other in an endless slide, and watches as Bucky’s face goes lax with pleasure.

“You decided what you want yet?” Bucky asks, tripping over his words as Steve squeezes a little at the base.

“I got no idea,” Steve admits with a lopsided smile. “I got distracted.”

Bucky laughs softly and kisses him, the barest brush of their lips that leaves Steve wanting more.

“You know what we ain’t done in the longest time?” Bucky says, the words rumbling low and enticing. “Fucked you right here,” and he rubs his thumbs in tantalising circles on the inside of Steve’s thighs in demonstration, so close to his cock he can hardly stand it.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. He hadn’t even thought of it before now and yet as soon as the idea is in his head it’s all he wants. “Yeah, I want that too. Let me get you wet enough, huh? And we’ll do it right here.”

He can’t get his mouth on Bucky from where he’s sitting, but he’s nothing if not resourceful. Bending forward, he glances up through his lashes, stills the movement of his hand and spits thickly onto the head of Bucky’s dick so he can drag the slick mess of saliva and precome down the shaft with a few pumps of his fist.

“Fuckin’ _filthy_ ,” Bucky murmurs, swaying forward. He grips at the nape of Steve’s neck to straighten him up and presses their foreheads together. He likes it sloppy, always has. “Fuck, what you do to me, you got no idea.”

Steve has some idea, watching Bucky’s cock slip between his fingers, pulsing and blood-hot and heavy; desperately, achingly ready to fuck. Nonetheless, Bucky’s sweet-talking never fails to get him riled up.

“Come on,” Steve says, balanced on the edge of the table and pressing both legs together so Bucky can hook them over one arm, drape them over Bucky’s left hip. Fumbling for Bucky’s cock underneath him, Steve guides him between his thighs and then braces himself back on his hands again, the table creaking on its legs as Bucky eases forward with a quiet, throaty sound.

Steve shifts his weight, sliding one ankle over the other experimentally, and Bucky blinks at him in a daze.

“Fuck, keep your legs together like that,” Bucky breathes. “So damn good; you’re so good to me, Stevie.”

He draws back and thrusts forward again, and this time the head of his dick nudges up against Steve’s balls, skidding slickly over his shaft.

“Oh, Buck, keep doing that,” Steve says, “right there, don’t you dare stop now.”

“Yeah?” Bucky murmurs, angling his hips just right. “That good for you? Jesus, you look good like this.”

Steve is torn between watching Bucky’s face, and looking down at where Bucky’s cock slips between his legs, the head glossy-wet and painting sticky trails across Steve’s skin with every push.

Bucky thumbs at the collar of Steve’s open shirt, pushing it back slightly, and places his mouth to Steve’s shoulder; sucks a mark there that Steve knows within seconds will take days to fade. When Steve tilts his chin, angling for a kiss, Bucky obliges him.

As time passes it becomes less of a kiss and more of an open-mouthed tease, noses bumping together and breathing the same air between fleeting moments of contact. It’s not difficult to tell when Bucky starts getting close, his breathing gone ragged and each thrust sharper and more insistent.

“Are you gonna make a mess outta me?” Steve asks him, barely above a whisper and knowing full well the effect it’ll have. He tugs Bucky’s bottom lip between his teeth and takes great satisfaction in it when Bucky can hardly contain an honest-to-god whimper of desperation, burying his face in Steve’s neck and panting hotly there as the movement of his hips quickens and stutters.

Bucky pulls back a little to look at him once he’s regained his composure, but the flex of his hips stays quick and dirty. “Feels too damn good not to,” he says. “Don’t think I can last too much longer.”

“Then don’t,” Steve urges, “do it, Buck, I want it.”

True to his word, it doesn’t take Bucky long at all from there; a few more solid thrusts and he’s shooting off, held tight between Steve’s slim thighs. Bucky murmurs sweet nothings and nonsense to him throughout, telling him how good he is, how perfect it feels and all kinds of other things Steve barely hears, distracted as he is by the feeling of Bucky twitching between his legs, come spilling warmly across his cock and slicking up his thighs and his belly.

“Look at you, Christ, just _look_ at you,” Bucky gasps, barely finished before he’s taking Steve’s cock in his palm and jerking him off in fast, wet strokes. Bucky’s mouth meets Steve’s just as Steve starts coming himself, groaning as he spurts across his stomach and adds to the mess there.

Slumped together, Steve hooks his legs behind Bucky’s where he’s standing to keep him close while they catch their breath in the quiet. The music next door must have fallen silent at some point, the loudest sound in the apartment now the ticking of the clock on the wall edging towards midnight.

Eventually Steve shifts where he’s sat, feeling the ache from the position and the hard table top combined and yet too warm and too sated to care too much about it. Bucky stands up straight, rolling the stiffness from his shoulders with lazy satisfaction. Reaching up, Steve brushes Bucky’s hair from his forehead where it’s fallen out of place, and Bucky’s smile as he does so is as adoring as any Steve’s ever seen.

Tucking himself back into his slacks with an indolent smirk, Bucky winks at him and drops smoothly to his knees before Steve even has time to process it. Looking up at Steve in a way that manages to be both innocent and wholly indecent at the same time, Bucky begins to mouth at the come-streaked insides of Steve’s thighs, working his way up at a leisurely pace.

“Buck, Jesus,” Steve groans.

“What?" Bucky says, licking the sheen from his lips and making no move to get up again. “You wanted me to clean up. S’what I’m doing, technically.”

“Oh, well then technically,” Steve huffs out a laugh, lying back on the table and letting Bucky push his legs apart wider, “you should probably keep on doing just that.”

**Author's Note:**

> For a fic containing exactly zero blowjobs I somehow managed to make this 90% about Bucky Barnes’ mouth. I’m not saying I’m _obsessed_ with it or anything, just that I have intensely passionate feelings and thoughts of it consume my every waking moment.


End file.
